With Gun or Claw
by The Tiramisu Of Impending Doom
Summary: [nonyaoi because I'm fairly certain Barret does not want to sex up Vincent and vice versa, oneshot] One night, when Barret cannot sleep, he ends up end up talking with Vincent about the past and what they could do about the future.


With Gun or Claw

_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square-enix A.K.A. rich Japanese guys. I'm not using this story for anything other than for the sake of writing, so don't sue._

_Author's Note: Heh. I never really had Barret and Vincent on my team at the same time. But hell, what do you care? This idea came into my head when I was playing FF7 today, and I thought it would make an interesting discussion for these two. This is not a companion to my other Vincent fic. I hope I got the details right, but that's not the important thing. I don't even know what town they're in right now. AND THIS IS NOT YAOI, DAMMIT. Without further ado, please enjoy, and don't forget to review._

He couldn't get to sleep again. It must've been the third time that week. Lately, the world was acting a little too crazy, taking away his peace, his will to rest. And he missed his Marlene… Knowing his luck, she probably didn't think a whit about him, but he hoped he was wrong about that…

Why the hell did he bother sleeping anyway?

With a grunt of displeasure at the tension in his neck, Barret Wallace rolled out of bed and sent a dark-eyed glare towards the clock hanging on the wall.

Two-thirteen in the morning. Just great. He should just pull an all-nighter and look at everyone else sleeping, pretending he had a rest as good as theirs, and then pay back the cursed lack of sleep by spewing obscenities every time they ran into a monster. At least the Captain would appreciate it.

He glanced around the room. The hell was up with these last few inns? NO separate bedrooms, just a shit-load of beds in one room, like one of those old hospitals. Cloud and the others were resting peacefully on their respective beds, though Yuffie and Cid seemed to be participating in the Loudest Snorer Competition. Funny, he didn't even know there was one until he met those two. He wondered if they were part of the reason why he couldn't get to bed.

Unlikely. He'd grown used to all sorts of night sounds.

And as always, there was someone else not sleeping. His sheets and pillows were still crisp and smooth. He didn't even do as much as sit at the end of the bed to rest, or clean his guns, or whatever a man like him would do. He was so damn wooden all the time. If he wasn't with the group, he'd probably have a wacky ass routine he followed, and there would be death to those who interfered with it. He was a strange one for sure.

Vincent Valentine, that is.

Barret scratched the back of his neck and wondered where the tall guy was, while in the back of his mind he decided he probably didn't _want_ to know.

He yawned silently as he headed out of the inn. The woman working behind the desk in the lobby was busy doing paperwork and didn't notice him, else she would've greeted him. Earlier that evening, she gave the party a great big smile when they asked for a room.

He passed through the entrance to see none other than Vincent Valentine, and gently closed the inn door behind him as he took in the sight before him.

Standing with his arms crossed, Vincent leaned against the vertical support connected to the porch's banister and faced the town before him, his cape flapping in the breeze. The tall man was probably the only other soul awake in the entire town besides him, and he probably knew Barret was standing there too. A man as large as Barret Wallace could rarely sneak by without being noticed anyway, but Vincent seemed to have eyes on the back of his head and senses as keen as any predator. Like a damn wolf or something.

He silently moved beside the man; even though he could never achieve the same quiet grace that Vincent could do so easily, he could at least pretend. He didn't have to impress anyone anyway. The bastard slept in a coffin, for gods' sakes. It was a wonder he didn't smell weird after that ordeal.

He shook his head slightly as he took in the sight before him. The street lights were pretty useless, more like glow-in-the-dark toys sticking out of the ground than anything that could be considered helpful in a dark town like this. In a way, it was unsettling, but it was also peaceful.

Barret looked over at his silent companion's profile. The gentle breeze lifted the ebony hair back from his face, leaving the view of those frightening blood-red eyes unobstructed. They could probably light up the town better than the damn street-lights, but he bet Tifa and Cloud would make jokes at him for saying such a thing. A big guy like him, spouting poetry about another man's features. It could only end in embarrassment.

He smiled bitterly and shook his head again.

Vincent sure did know when he was being watched. Dispassionately, he turned his head towards Barret and met his eyes, his gaze taking in everything but giving little in return. And then he looked away.

Barret didn't realize he was holding his breath until he finally let it out. Christ, the guy sure was scary sometimes.

He turned his gaze away, attempting to practice the same nonchalance his companion did, but he wasn't going to stay quiet anymore.

He might as well ask one of the oldest questions.

"So… why are you up at this ridiculous hour?"

He didn't get a response right away, so he shot an intense glance towards the man again after a second, wondering if he didn't hear the question.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Vincent shook his head, silencing him with one of the oldest answers. Guess he wasn't feeling so creative at the time.

"I cannot sleep," the ex-Turk replied quietly, straightening.

You'd think that after sleeping in a coffin for more than a few years, one would have enough practice at sleeping. Then again, that sounded pretty disturbing, so maybe he still had those nightmares he was muttering about when they first met him.

What was it like sleeping in a coffin? Could he open his eyes and see the consuming darkness around him, or did the man even feel anything? It was hard to believe that a man felt nothing at all, but there were people who were probably numb to everything. Like Sephiroth or Shin-ra employees. Or tax collectors…

Who the hell knew what was going on in Vincent's head anyway? Did Barret really want to know?

He grunted in response. "Me neither," he muttered.

His gaze slipped down to the golden prosthetic arm, and couldn't help but wonder how it got there. Vincent never mentioned it, even though he probably sensed the curious glances of his unsettled companions. Nobody knew too much about the guy. All Barret knew was that when the vampire-like dude got hit too many times he turned into a monster, and he didn't turn back into the Vincent they all knew until all the enemies were destroyed. And… he knew that he was an ex-Turk…

…So… if Barret asked about the arm, would he get shot in the face or eaten by a beast, or both?

He lowered his eyes to the gun latched onto his arm at the forearm. He could relate to the anger attached to injuries like these. The frustrations. He couldn't hold Marlene the same way anymore. Couldn't walk into a room without everyone looking up and wondering if he just came in to cause trouble. And he knew what it was like to be feared.

Couldn't hurt to ask, could it?

"…Vincent, you don' have to answer if you don' wanna, but… what happened to yo' arm?" He chanced a look at Vincent, preparing himself as he turned his crimson eyes on him in a staid gaze.

"Do you really want to know?" he answered cryptically.

_Shit, I guess not…_

He shrugged and held up his gun arm. "Check this out," he offered. "Did I ever tell you about this?"

Vincent looked at the gun, back to Barret's face, and then shook his head.

Barret clenched his jaw, nodded and said, "I had a friend Dyne… back in Corel... Ever been there?"

Vincent nodded and Barret continued.

"We were trying to return to town. Shin-ra soldiers were after us," he said, his gaze staring at his arm as though it would grow back or something. "…Dyne fell and I grabbed his arm before he could fall off the edge into a ravine… and the Shin-ra soldiers…" He laughed without mirth. "Their aim sucked so bad. It took 'em awhile 'fore they could hit. But they shot my arm, an' I… I couldn't hold on."

He didn't want to cry in front of a man as cold as Vincent Valentine, so he just clenched his jaw and took in a shaky breath.

"It's a stupid thing, ya know? Jus' an arm. But you take these things for granted," he added. "Anyway, I was never the same. I got a gun crafted on it, so I could fight Shin-ra…"

Maybe one day, he'd exchange the gun for a prosthetic hand, to hold Marlene again… but as long as there were people messin' with his planet… he'd keep the gun. That way he could protect the people he loved the most.

He looked up at Vincent, wondering if the man would show anything on his face—concern, anger, or mockery—but he just watched him the same as he ever did. That frosty gaze probably hid some soul. It was probably just a matter of time before he unleashed something fierce, other than those creatures inside him.

Vincent lifted his head slightly. "And what of this friend… Dyne…?"

Barret lowered his eyes again. "Dyne got messed up," he answered with a bit of reluctance. "He was crippled too. And he hated himself as much as he hated everything else. Even after I told him Marlene was okay… he didn't think he could hold her…" He shook his head. _Neither should I, dammit… Neither should I…_

"Marlene… His wife?"

"His daughter," Barret corrected. "You haven't met her yet. She's stayin' with a friend… It'll be nice to see her again… but—" Narrowing his eyes, he cut himself off and continued, "I had to fight Dyne. He wouldn't have it any other way… I didn't end up killin' him though… ya know… He killed himself…"

He met Vincent's eyes again. The gunslinger nodded silently and then looked away.

"So… you gonna tell me what happened?" His grave stare on the man could probably be called a glare.

Vincent sighed heavily and uncrossed his arms so he could look down at his claw. He flexed the sharp metal fingers and then turned the claw over. It gleamed eerily in the dim light.

"Are you familiar with Professor Hojo?" he inquired.

"Yeah, a damn weirdo, that one." He remembered seeing that face, the beady black eyes peering over those glasses, his hunched-over, frail body in a deceptively clean lab coat, and that greasy looking black hair tied tightly back from his face like a rat.

He bowed his head in agreement. "Hojo did this to me… After he shot me—"

Barret's eyes went wide. "You mean the guy who took yo' girl? He cut off yo' arm?"

Vincent nodded and looked up at his companion. Barret saw so much self-loathing in the man's gaze that it was disturbing. At least he showed something. "I deserved it," he answered, "for everything I couldn't prevent…"

Barret shook his head, uncomprehending. "You didn't tell me this story. Tifa and Aeris summed up the story, but I didn't know much about it," he explained. "…But what do ya mean, 'deserved it?' No human bein' deserves that…"

"I'm not quite a human," Vincent replied simply.

Vincent felt guilt. That made him human; it contradicted his response.

Barret shook his head again. "The hell you talkin' about?" he asked, forgetting to keep quiet for the sake of everyone sleeping.

"I could have stopped Lucrecia from meeting her fate, but I was blinded by my love for her," Vincent elaborated lowly. "I must destroy Hojo for what he has done, but also to make sure he doesn't harm anymore people." Vincent's gaze turned stony again. "...But it is not completely wrong that I have this." He lowered his claw to his side. "It serves as a reminder for my sins…"

_Well... then… shit. Whatever you say, Valentine._

"That's fucked up," Barret muttered. "But you want revenge. I can understand that."

Vincent nodded and looked away. "Hojo will die from my gun," the man promised darkly, "and I will not rest until that job is finished."

Job… He may not have been a Turk anymore, but he sure did act like one from time to time.

Barret considered this for a moment, and the silence was so heavy that he could cut through it with a bullet.

It was a crazy world for sure, but no one had to venture through it alone, not unless you wanted to.

He let out a short laugh through his nose and said softly, "Ya know, Valentine, you don' have to deal with Hojo on your own."

Vincent looked over at him sharply, his gaze quizzical and defensive.

Damn, if the man didn't shrivel genitalia with his intense gaze…

"All I'm sayin' is that you've got a bunch o' friends now," he said. "You don' have to listen to me if you don' wanna. I'm jus' tellin' you how it is." He turned to completely face the man. "We're all against Shin-ra… Sephiroth… an' anyone who wants to mess with our planet. We're all fightin' fo' one reason or another. We'll help you fight Hojo."

Vincent lowered his eyes and furrowed his brow.

"…What? Does that sound bad?" Barret asked, throwing up his hands in defeat.

Vincent looked up at him again, red eyes sparkling with questions. "I… I am unused to such… kindness."

Barret narrowed his eyes, feeling somewhat like a father scolding a child for what he was going to say next. "Maybe if you spent less time brooding in dark corners you'd find that we're not tryin' to mess with ya… Know what I mean?"

"Perhaps you are right."

_There you go with that cryptic nonsense again. Is anything ever black and white with you? Maybe that's why I respect you, Valentine._

All this talking about cutting off limbs and fighting for the planet was making him a bit sleepy. A great yawn overtook his mouth and he rubbed his eyes.

"Well, Vincent… I'm gonna try an' get to sleep again."

Vincent gave a simple nod. "Very well. Have a nice rest."

Barret headed over to the door and opened it. Standing in the doorway with his hand on the panel, he looked over his shoulder at the stalwart ex-Turk.

The gunslinger stood perfectly straight now, his arms once again folded across his chest, and his back to Barret. It was as though he never went outside to talk with him in the first place.

He smiled and shook his head, and then returned inside. Had Barret seen Vincent's face in that moment, he might have imagined that he saw a hint of a smile there.

The woman behind the counter saw Barret as he stepped through the small lobby and smiled. "Have a nice sleep," she said.

He chuckled and returned, "Yeah, we'll see if it works this time."

She crinkled her forehead in concern. "Are the mattresses uncomfortable?"

"Oh no, they're fine… It's my mind that's not workin' right."

Her smile was warmer. "The times are rough. Everyone's mind is misbehaving lately. But as long as you have a good heart, I don't think your mind can be really be wrong…"

He nodded slowly, digesting her words. "Yeah, maybe you're right. G'night, ma'am."

"Goodnight."

_More like "good morning," but what the hell?_

He returned to the room, looking around to see everyone resting soundly, except Cid and Yuffie, still engaging in their snoring contest, evidently. Big surprise there.

As he lay down for a second time, or "nap: part two" as he inwardly dubbed it, he thought about his talk with the man with the prosthetic arm.

It would be different for the man, he hoped. The world had enough pain and enough… sadistic… crazy people. If a man as stubborn as Vincent Valentine could change, maybe the rest of the world could too. And maybe it would make their team stronger. There could be some hope yet. And that meant he could see Marlene again… and he could be a good father… like he always longed to be…

_See, maybe cheesy thoughts like are really the things making you lose sleep, Wallace. Shut the hell up and go to bed._

And as he closed his eyes, he let himself smile.


End file.
